


Our Lives Are the Least We Can Pledge

by Geeneelee



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: 19th century southwestern politics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Morgan Has Low Self-Esteem, Betaed, Canon-Typical Violence, Dogs, Dream Sex, Eventual Smut, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Historical References, Hurt/Comfort, I read college student theses for this, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Politics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Stress Dreams, background sean macguire/karen jones, does this fandom need another arthur/oc fic? no. is that stopping me? also no., now with art!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:27:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26474893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geeneelee/pseuds/Geeneelee
Summary: Josefa Chavez (ex-rancher, ex-political vigilante, current outlaw) joined the Van der Linde gang nearly four years ago, providing them with an intimate knowledge of sabotage and economics, a level head, and a very large dog. She's 31 and a gang of two dozen outlaws isn't the family she'd been imagining for herself, but it's still one she loves, and she'll be damned if lets them fall apart.
Relationships: Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston, Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s), Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to my betas! You really helped in polishing this.
> 
> Quick notes: I use the actress Patrice Martinez as a visual reference for Josefa, and Alfonso is a Spanish Mastiff. Dialogue in [brackets] is in Spanish. I don't know how long it will take for the smut to get here, so strap in.

Josefa Chavez had been in the middle of feeling quite sorry for herself when she heard the distinctive sound of John Marston’s indignant hollering. This was a conundrum. On one hand, she was usually inclined to investigate when a gang member was in distress. On the other hand,

  1. She didn’t think much of John Marston.
  2. The man was injured, and if it was just pain then that was the Reverend’s job.
  3. It was cold—hence feeling sorry for herself—and she didn’t want to leave the fireside.



Unfortunately, at that moment, she could hear that John had gone from indistinct noises of distress to saying her name.

“CHAVEZ!” 

She sighed, and pulled her coat tighter. That settled that. One small comfort of Colter was that the houses were close together, so the walk to the gang’s impromptu sick bay was a short one. Lenny was exiting the building as she approached, and raised his hand in greeting. A smile tugged at his lips, she noticed. Whatever Marston’s complaint was, Lenny thought it was funny.

As she entered the room, Josefa found that she had to agree. Seeing John Marston angrily squirming under the weight of a nonplussed Spanish Mastiff (whose ass was dangerously close to the man’s face) was pretty damn funny. On top of that, as she entered the room, his tail began to wag, swiping back and forth across John’s face. 

“Chavez! Get your damn beast OFF of me!” he spluttered in between mouthfuls of fur.

Instead of calling her dog, Josefa cackled with laughter. This only served to excite the enormous dog, who responded with barks and even more wagging. Javier, who had been keeping John company from his stool, couldn’t help but laugh as well, which made the barking louder still. John tried his best to curse them all out in spite of the tail wapping into his face like a giant metronome.

Eventually, Josefa had to admit to herself that excited mastiffs and injured people were a bad mix, no matter how funny. Still laughing too hard to speak, she patted her thigh to call the dog over. John was freed as the dog immediately clambered off of him and towards his owner. She crouched, and took his big, jowly face in her hands. “[Alfonso, leave him alone. You could have undone all of Ms. Grimshaw’s hard work like that. And you can’t just wander around wherever you please,]” she said as her giggling finally subsided. Alfonso looked solemnly into her dark eyes, not understanding a word she said. What he did understand was that if he sat still and stared at her while she spoke, he wouldn’t get in trouble.

Javier tutted. “[That’s what you get for naming him after a king, Fefa.]”

She tried to scowl at him, but ended up lapsing back into giggles instead. Alfonso took that as an opportunity to strain his head forward and begin licking her face, following her as she shied away from the slobbery tongue. 

John had finished spitting hair out of his mouth.

“Are you encouraging that mutt? I know you’ll laugh at anything, but he could have crushed me!” He huffed. “That dog is a  _ menace _ , coming here to finish off what his cousins started.”

Josefa stood to avoid any more slobber. “I was only telling him to mind his manners. Besides, he was born to keep wolves away. Maybe you should have taken him with you, and not gotten hurt in the first place.” John attempted to scowl despite the mass of wounds and bandages currently occupying his face. “And we’ll see how much of a ‘menace’ you think he is next time he wants a belly rub, hmm?” 

John was saved from needing to come up with a good response by the sudden appearance of one Arthur Morgan. “Having a little get-together in here?” he asked from the doorway. A flash of concern ran through Josefa at the bloodstains that seemed to cover at least half of his coat, until she remembered his and Charles’ plans to go hunting that day. Between the blood and his relaxed posture, she imagined it must have gone well. Josefa felt a swell of a familiar affection; she had a dopey grin and a hand in her hair before she could stop herself. Alfonso was also excited by the latest arrival, and began nosing at Arthur’s pockets. He chuckled. “Just the pooch I wanted to see,” he said, pulling a meat scrap out of his pocket. “What are you doing here anyway?” he asked the dog, who swallowed his prize whole before Arthur had so much as finished his question.

“He wanted to make sure that John stayed put,” Josefa explained. “Who knows what might come and take him away? Wolves, O’Driscolls, a lack of common sense…” She could feel the heat of John’s glare at that last remark.

Arthur, on the other hand, chuckled. “That so? You’re a regular credit to the gang, boy,” he said, scratching behind the dog’s ear. Alfonso leaned into the touch and made a low noise of appreciation. “Always on the job just where you’re needed.” 

“How did I  _ need _ a 200 pound animal on top of me?!” John protested. “If you wanted me dead, there’s easier ways.”

Javier shook his head. “I wouldn’t rescue you from a snowstorm just to watch you die in a bed. Alfonso’s a smart boy, he knows to avoid injuries.” 

That didn’t seem to cheer John at all. “I don’t know why you bothered. Seems like you don’t need me when you’ve got that dog.” He turned his head to face the wall. As it turned out, being mostly immobile made dramatic gestures difficult.

Arthur gave Alfonso a few final pats before taking a step back. Satisfied that John was alive and sufficiently irritated, Arthur headed back out the door, nodding at Josefa and Javier on the way out. “I’ll leave you to it.” 

Alfonso stared after Arthur until he heard the sound of the shack’s door close, then turning to stare at his owner inquisitively. He’d probably been hoping for another treat, Josefa mused. She decided to follow suit. “Let John rest,  _ querido _ . Javier has it handled. Come keep me warm instead.” The outlaw in question waved from his seat.

Unfortunately, John finally found a good comeback as she was heading out the door. “Being a jackass to me won’t make Arthur love you back, you know.”

Several responses immediately sprung to mind.  _ Not everything I do is about Arthur. Maybe you should spend more time worrying about the people who love you instead of who does or doesn’t love me. Actually, this for Jack and Abigail, not Arthur. I’ll stop being an ass when you do. _ What she actually said was… nothing at all. 

Javier groaned in exasperation as she slammed the door behind her.

Alfonso wasn’t as keen to leave the shack. He sniffed, looking for a way back in, and stared balefully at Josefa when he couldn’t find it. Josefa shook her head and made her way back towards the cabin she was staying in; Alfonso took a few moments to realize he wasn’t getting back in, and reluctantly followed her.

The cold made even the shortest trek across camp agonizing. Her tears were painfully cold within moments of forming. Damn John for getting to her. Damn her for letting him. Padding alongside her, Alfonso stared upwards, waiting to lick them away like he always did. 

As soon as they made it back inside the cabin, she slumped against the wall. The enormous dog immediately set to kissing her face back into a smile. Eventually, Josefa managed a grimace and pushed his snout away so that she could bury her face in his neck instead.

For a moment, she stayed like that, face hidden in the warm, familiar fur. Alfonso’s tail thumped anxiously against the floor. Once the tears subsided, she pulled away, and gently pushed his head to lay in her lap instead. He still longed to patrol the camp, to check that everyone was where they should be, but accepted that Josefa needed him here.

“[I know sweetie, I know. This is hard on everyone.]” She looked around the ramshackle cabin. The aged wood was a weak defense against the wind and cold, and the gang, down more than half their supplies, was woefully unprepared for blizzard weather. Her gaze wandered to the other side of the room, where some of the other women were gathered around a fireplace. Tilly and Mary-Beth had turned to look at her with concern, but Josefa shook her head. She didn’t want to explain the situation to them right now. They turned back towards the flames, but she could see them steal several more glances over the shoulder. They were such sweet girls, she thought to herself. They didn’t deserve this. 

Alfonso looked downright morose, which was the worst part. When the dog was sad, then you knew things were really rotten. “[Oh sweetie...what were you doing in there anyway?]” A terrible thought occurred to her. “[Alfonso, he’ll be fine. He’ll be better soon, you’ll see. It’s not...it’s not like Davey.]” 

That had been the wrong thing to say, because at the mention of the late Callendar brother, Alfonso began to sit up and look around. Josefa shushed his whines and gently pushed him back down before he could start looking for someone he’d never find. “[No, no, I’m sorry sweetie. He’s not here. He was your friend, I know, I know, but he’s not here anymore.]”

The memory of seeing Alfonso trying to lick his “sleeping” friend awake nearly brought the tears back, but she was frankly too cold, too tired, and too hungry to be wasting time on tears, so Josefa bit the inside of her cheek until the pressure behind her eyes subsided.

“[It’s hard on everyone right now,]” she continued. “[Perhaps I shouldn’t have been talking to John like that. Everyone’s miserable enough without us turning on each other.]” Tensions in the gang had been on the rise for months now--first the land deal that fell through (she was still cursing herself for not pushing Dutch harder to go in on it) and the addition of Micah soon after turned many people’s moods sour. A sour mood in the gang spread and grew like wildfire, and the mess in Blackwater had been like a gunpowder keg thrown into the mix.

The more people fought, the longer it would take for everyone to settle down and recover, she realized with a rush of shame. Josefa knew that she was liked and respected by a good portion of the gang. People-pleasing and mediation were skills she’d learned being the eldest of a big family and perfected in her politicking days. Helping manage a band of more than 20 outcasts was a responsibility of hers since soon after joining the gang four years ago. Hosea and Dutch had never asked for her help keeping tempers cool, but had acknowledged her role and thanked her for it many times.

Her temper was a luxury, and the gang didn’t have time for luxuries right now. They had lost four people, at least two of them permanently, and everyone else was at their limits. Arthur was out there learning new skills, finding new ways to support the gang, and Josefa would be damned if she was going to let him pick up all the slack. “[Don’t worry, Alfonso. We’re getting everyone through this. We can only go up from here. I’ll make sure of it.]”

Alfonso took this as an opportunity to go back to licking her face; she accepted it, as a show of support. The gang was going to start the new century back on top, Josefa decided.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sad little man, a disorienting dream, and a conversation over breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I don't have an excuse, but hopefully it doesn't happen again. Art by Jaegervega.

Josefa could only stare at their latest “guest.” She should have been preparing for the train tomorrow, but felt obliged to see the hostage Arthur had brought back for herself. 

While she didn’t have the same history with the O’Driscolls that Dutch and the old guard had, she’d learned to hate them quickly enough. The stagecoach in Nevada had cemented them in her heart as a plague on the innocent. In person they were just as bad—she’d been on the receiving end of some  _ vile  _ words. When she’d heard Arthur had brought one back, her biggest concern was that he might be dangerous, or bring down camp morale. Dutch insisted that he could have all sorts of valuable information, something they needed badly with how close the rival gang was to their current location. 

Her biggest concern now was that they’d picked up some lost fool by mistake. He was twiggy, pale, and had an expression like every morning he woke up alive was a complete shock. Even Alfonso, territorial as they came, couldn’t be bothered with anything more than a short growl. 

The man was shivering violently, from a combination of cold and hunger that tugged at Josefa’s heartstrings against her better judgement. His restraints were probably the only things keeping him upright. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the sight so she could move on, but his chattering was audible. Cursing her bleeding heart, Josefa rifled through her pockets for the bits of jerky kept on hand for Alfonso. 

He flinched as she brought her hand to his face, but opened his mouth upon seeing the food. It reminded her of finding a swallow’s nest in the barn as a child, and seeing the pale, scrawny chicks open their mouths at her expectantly. His lips brushed against her fingers as he strained to eat the dried meat; she winced at how dry they were. He looked abashed and right away curled back in on himself, as much as his restraints would allow.

Josefa looked away, sighing. “You don’t seem…very involved in all this. I’m sure once, mm, whatever it is we need you for is over, you can be on your way. We’re not animals.” She grimaced. “Well, most of us. But I doubt Dutch will leave them alone with you.” Dutch had little mercy for O’Driscolls, no matter how pathetic. However, Dutch was also confident the man had information for them, so perhaps they could just let the man go afterwards. Hopefully.

He looked at her with a pained expression, and he opened his mouth to speak, but—no words came. Josefa didn’t press; she had more immediate concerns. There was a train robbery to prepare for just the next day. She needed to be on top of her game.

She could still hear him shivering when she left.

  
  
  
  


[She was on a train. It was a fancy one, every seat packed with hideously wealthy passengers. The car was an explosion of lace, silk, velvet, and cashmere overflowing into the aisles, weighed down by pounds of jewelry. She looked at the bag she brought—it was far too small for the score in front of her. What an amateur mistake.

_ Wait, weren’t they robbing a cargo train tomorrow? Why was _ —

The terrified passengers had their jewelry and money clips at the ready, shoving them into her bag.  _ A little pathetic.  _ All the better for her, though, except that they were so eager to offload their possessions that they kept spilling out of the bag and onto the floor, and she had to bend down to pick it up but still keep an eye on them lest one of them get any ideas but she fumbled with her gun—

It was a huge gun. Almost like a shotgun, almost like an elephant rifle, almost like a repeater. It was too caked in blood for her to know, and she couldn’t remember how it got that way, and she really needed to clean it as soon as she was done, but first she needed to pick up that damn necklace while watching that man in the next row and

Her bag emptied all over the compartment floor. Passengers forgotten, she fell to her hands and knees, scrambling to shove the take back into her bag that seemed somehow even smaller than when she got on the train, but it all kept slipping through her fingers. Desperation clawed at her stomach—how long did she have until the law came? How long until one of the passengers decided she was a poor excuse for an outlaw and tried their luck? Were the guards taken care of?

She stood in a panic but the train car was now empty and silent, except for a rhythmic slapping noise. Josefa turned to see Arthur, lazily sprawled over the seats, pleasuring himself. His pants and union suit were opened, cock on full display. It was as gorgeous as she had been guiltily imagining it to be. Just like she had imagined so many nights over the past few years. Against her better judgement, she found herself openly staring.

Eventually she tore her eyes away from his cock. But instead of looking enraged or disgusted like she expected, Arthur looked... pleased with himself. He smiled ( _ somehow salacious and soft at the same time _ ) and patted his thigh. “You coming?” 

Josefa lifted her skirts and climbed onto the seat almost before he even finished the question. Dimly, she hoped she didn’t look nearly as desperate for this as she felt. She slipped his cockhead through the opening of her drawers ( _ shouldn’t she have prepared herself first? There was no way she could take him just like that _ ) and he slid in perfectly. It was the fullness she had been craving for so long, and she leaned into him, one hand in his hair, the other fisted in her skirt, face pressed into his neck as she moaned. 

Arthur gently pushed her head back to look her in the eyes. The gentle path his thumb stroked along her cheek felt like fire and his beautiful, beautiful, beautiful eyes were looking at her with love.

She rocked back and forth on his cock with a single-minded focus on pleasuring them both. For years she had craved this and she wanted to prove to him she was worth it, this was worth it, that this could be what they both needed. Feeling his cock twitch inside her spurred her to ride him as hard as she could, chasing his climax.

“Typical,” said a familiar, raspy voice behind her.

She looked over her shoulder to see John Marston sneering, unimpressed by the display.  _ Wasn’t the train empty just a moment ago? _ “Dropping everything for him. That the only reason you’re still here?”

Mortification paralyzed her.  _ No,  _ she wanted to say.  _ I love all of you. I want a better world for us. I’m not that shallow, I’m trying so hard _ —

But she couldn’t get the words out. Not while she was in the middle of fucking his brother, not while pounds of jewelry laid forgotten on the floor. She couldn’t move or speak.

The whole gang was sitting on the train. All staring at her. All cold, starving, sickly. All disappointed and disgusted at the display. The shame was crushing her, of throwing away such an incredible take in a moment of mindless lust. 

The entire compartment lurched. Josefa looked out the window. She felt almost relieved at the sight of their train hurtling to the bottom of a cliff. Now she wouldn’t have to explain herself to everyone.]

Josefa woke with a start. She unclenched her aching jaw, and waited for the dream to fade from her memory. When it didn’t, she groaned and pulled her blanket over her head. Guilt churned her stomach. Even starving, freezing, and broke, she still couldn’t let go of her fantasies. Arthur’s dedication to his family was part of what Josefa treasured about him, and here she was, wrapped up in her own selfishness.

Alfonso’s snuffling pulled her out of her spiral. A glance at the window told her it was early, but not too early to get up. Mary-Beth and Karen were still sleeping, but Susan and Tilly’s places on the bedroll were empty. She grimaced. She could be doing more. Today would be their first job since Blackwater—their first opportunity to start rebuilding from what they had lost, and Dutch relied on her when they were hitting a train. There were explosives to check, maps to study, and plans to work through before they moved out,  _ and  _ the job had a deadline. 

And yet, she still saw flashes of the dream every time she closed her eyes—the spilling jewelry, Arthur’s flushed skin, the looks of disappointment. 

Alfonso, who didn’t know a damn thing about money or the law or unrequited love, stared and whined at her expectantly as she wrapped herself in layer after layer of fabric, finishing by tying her hair half-up. (Her thick, curly hair had always been difficult to keep in a fashionably neat bun, but she had to at least keep it out of her face.) She glanced sidelong at Alfonso, almost jealous of how his responsibilities—watching, guarding—were bone-deep, instead of something he had to actively choose every day of his life. All that seemed to come naturally to her was being bossy and dreaming of men with rare but beautiful smiles and strong arms. She tried to shake the thought from her head.

That was all she could do, really. Keep choosing to do what was best for the gang. What she dreamed about didn’t need to have any effect on what she did, and there was certainly no reason for any of the others to know about it. Her dreams were between her and God.

Hopefully, God would wait another few decades. Alfonso on the other hand, seemed like he couldn’t wait another minute to eat. He dutifully followed her out the little shack and toward Pearson’s haphazard cooking station. With Arthur and Charles’ contribution the day before, there were plenty of bones, gristle, and other deer scraps for Alfonso to have for breakfast. His meals had been unfortunately sparse since they fled Blackwater, and the increasing looseness of his skin tugged at her heart, even while she went hungry too. He was skinnier than he had ever been, and hopefully the skinniest he would ever be. Hearing him crack open a bone while she poured herself a coffee was a relief. The tin of canned peaches and heel of bread that Arthur and Dutch had scavenged were a welcome change for her diet, too.

As she was finishing her stale chunk of bread, Dutch arrived with a gleam in his eye and his guns on his hips. He smiled at the sky. “Fine day for some good old fashioned robbery, wouldn’t you say, miss?” He gestured to their surroundings. “Nothing like some sunshine to start the day.”

The sky was still more cloudy than not, and the sun was only just appearing; it was only a “fine” day in comparison to the blizzard that had welcomed them to Colter. She hummed. “Maybe, if you forget the cold.” She tucked her hands under her arms to underscore her point. 

He shrugged. “I won’t deny it’s cold. But! There’s also nothing like pulling off a big score to warm you right up,” he said with a wink. Despite her morning angst, she smiled. There was nothing like Dutch to brighten one’s spirits—his bold optimism was infectious. Dutch leaned in, expression more serious. “Are we ready to pull this one off?”

  
“I’ll answer that after I look over anything again, but I think so.”

The serious look melted off his face. “Now  _ that  _ is what I like to hear. Careful, but still confident. I never have to worry about something being forgotten when you’re on the team.” He chuckled. “Unless you ask Sean to bring the rope. That required some serious improvisation to fix.”

Josefa giggled at the memory. “I don’t think Tilly has forgiven him yet for what we had to do with her dress.” Her smile faded. “I hope she has the chance to forgive him,” she mumbled.

Dutch put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, none of that. We’ll get him back. He’s fine—that boy may be good at getting into trouble, but he also knows how to get out of it.” He paused, then cracked a smile. “Besides, if we don’t get him back, we run the risk of some peace and quiet around camp, and I don’t know what we’d do then.”

Josefa giggled. “Listen to Uncle snore, I guess,” she said, earning a laugh from Dutch in return.

Feeling lighter, she dumped the dregs of her coffee into the snow and whistled for Alfonso. “I’m going to get everything together for the train. Bring everyone to the shed when they’re awake so we can go over the plan.”

“Yes ma’am,” Dutch replied, before she left to prepare.

Now she could return to her element: taking down trains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Trains! Classic literature references! A little bit of Josefa's backstory! Josefa and Arthur in the same scene! Canon-typical Micah (unfortunately)!
> 
> Comments are appreciated, and Happy New Year!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this far! Kudos, comments, bookmarks are all appreciated. I hope to update at least once a week, but I'm not terribly reliable in that regard.
> 
> Rip to John Marston, I love him, but Josefa values family and doesn't think much of deadbeats. Don't worry, characters' relationships are not static.
> 
> Also, I made a tumblr post collage of images and research I referenced for the fic: https://geeneelee.tumblr.com/post/629199998419075072/reference-board-for-my-oc-josefa-chavez-because . It includes the actress I picture her looking like, what a Spanish Mastiff looks like, images of the sorts of clothes I picture her wearing from that time period, a couple picrews I tried to make of her, and then links to things I've read for research. I recommend reading the wikipedia page for "Las Gorras Blancas" (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Las_Gorras_Blancas) at the very least, because they were pretty badass (I took the title from one of their public declarations).


End file.
